Cold Harsh Reality
by Chikorita-Trainer1
Summary: Stupid title. Typical trope that's been done before. Damian falls into the freezing Gotham harbor, and Tim saves him, yadda yadda yadda, brotherly fluff. Written out of my grouchiness at Chicago winter weather. It SNOWED on Halloween, for goodness' sake! Rated T for language.


**Cold Harsh Reality**  
Chikorita-Trainer1  
T  
Disclaimer: I don't own Batman or any of DC's characters.  
Author's note: Well, it's wintertime in Chicago. That means it is COLD AS HECK. My irritation at the weather was the inspiration for this story.

* * *

Gotham was freezing. Technically below freezing, but everybody would just say "It's freezing!"

There was no snow, it was just annoyingly cold. The kind of cold that really puts you in a bad mood. Of course, Tim Drake, known on the streets as Red Robin, was likely to be in a bad mood anyway, as he had been sent out to fetch his younger brother.

_Thank goodness for the thermo-devices in the suits,_ he thought. Batman's expensive, high-tech costumes were equipped with systems to keep the wearer perfectly comfortable in most temperatures. Though even with this body armor, it was still cold enough to be unpleasant.

_Alright, brat, B said you ran off to bust up an arms-shipment handoff. Not ideally the kind of operation one sends a child, hence your running off. God, you're annoying!_

Tracing the signal from Robin's utility belt, the teen navigated his motorcycle carefully on the icy streets, headed to the docks.

He had to park a couple blocks away and work his way over to the location via rooftops and fire escapes. Once he got to a warehouse overlooking a suspicious looking boat, he crouched down to observe.

The buyer, accompanied by several gunmen, stepped up to the seller, also surrounded by bodyguards, and began talking terms. Turning up the receptor in his earpiece, Red Robin listened in.

Nothing too interesting, just various criminal buzzwords like "Thirty-grand" and "cement shoes" and typical gangster talk. Red Robin was shivering, trying to keep his mind on the deal, but was finding it hard not to keep his teeth from chattering. It took the CLANK of a birdarang colliding with the boat just missing the dealer's head to snap him out of it.

_Oh, boy. Here we go,_ he groaned internally, standing up, preparing to fire his grappling hook and propel down.

The next moments were a routine blur of Robin kicking the shit out of ten guys at once, dodging bullets, and tossing an explosive onto the boat, intending to sink it and its contents.

"GODDAMN BIRDS!" yelled the dealer, firing his rifle repeatedly into the fray. At that moment, all Red Robin could think to do was get Robin out of there. He ran across the dock, through the gunfire, and tackled the younger vigilante.

"AGH! Get off me, you imbecile!" growled Robin. Ignoring the child's snotty demand, Red Robin rolled his eyes behind his mask, picked Robin up under his arm like a school book, and darted behind the nearest shed.

"How long do we have?" asked Red Robin, referring to the explosive.

"Three seconds, tops," said Robin. Red Robin winced, tipping his head back.

"_Shit!"_ he hissed. "The objective is always to take the criminals ALIVE, you little—"

KABOOM! Went the boat. The criminals were scattered as the explosion illuminated the docks. The flaming vessel quickly began to sink.

"YOU!" snarled the dealer, popping up around the corner from where the two Robins were huddled.

"Robin, get OUT OF HERE!" Red Robin roared in panic, shoving Robin away from him and leaping towards the bad guy.

Red Robin went for the man's knees, tackling him and knocking him backwards as he fired his gun at Robin, who was struck in the back of the shoulder. The cape and Kevlar armor kept the bullet from going through, but it did knock the child off his balance, and he stumbled off the dock and fell into the harbor.

The harbor that was currently freezing.

"ROBIN!" cried Red Robin, who had just knocked the gunman out and was in the process of tying him up. "Oh, for the love of-" he grumbled, hurrying over to the edge of the dock. Kneeling, he leaned forward as far as he could without falling in himself, and clicked on the light in the RR symbol on his chest.

"ROBIN! ROBIN, WHERE ARE YOU?!" he shouted. Soon enough, a sputtering, shivering Robin emerged from the icy water, and swam over to the edge of the wooden dock. "Oh, thank God. Give me your hand! Come on, come on, hurry!"

Robin, shaking and shivering, reached up and allowed Red Robin to grab him and haul him up onto the dry dock.

"It's OK, you're going to be OK," Red Robin assured him as he took off his own cape and wrapped it around his little brother. "Crap. We're not going to make it home. Can you hold on until we get to the nearest safehouse?" Robin nodded, his teeth chattering. "Come on, I've got you," Red Robin wrapped Robin tightly in his cape, scooped him up, and carried him towards his motorcycle. It was heavy and exhausting, and he wasn't even sure where this strength had come from, but all that mattered was keeping Robin alive.

"OK, hold onto me. I know you're cold, but you can't stay in a little ball," Red Robin said gently, setting the shivering and whimpering child onto the back seat of his cycle.

"_I'm O-k-k-k-k-k-K,"_ Robin insisted, his lips already blue.

"It'll be a couple blocks. Just hold on," said Red Robin. And into the harsh Gotham wind they rode.

* * *

The safehouse had a garage, which they parked in, and then they had to get up to the top floor, which was five flights up. Fortunately, there was an old-timey elevator.

"P-p-please tell me there's a working shower in here…" Robin stuttered, his costume still soaked. He peeled off his mask, and his eyebrows had ice in them.

"Yeah, I'll start a hot bath. Come on," said Red Robin. He quickly opened the door to the apartment, taking off his own mask and tossing it on the floor as soon as he turned on the light.

_God, please don't let him be frostbitten. Please don't let him have hypothermia. Please, please, please…_ Tim silently prayed as he turned the faucet in the tub as hot as the water could get.

"H-h-h-h-help me," Damian shivered, having collapsed on the floor just inside the apartment, still clutching Tim's cape around him. "M-my g-gloves are frozen on me."

"_Shit,"_ hissed Tim. He tried to remove them, but they were indeed frozen to Damian's fingers. "OK, you know what? We're just going to have to thaw you out before removing anything." Damian was in too much pain to argue, so he just nodded.

Tim picked Damian up again, and placed him in the now half-full tub, and the steaming water immediately began to loosen up Damian's gloves and boots.

"It's alright, you're going to be alright," Tim kept assuring Damian, whose cheeks were apple red and whose lips were blue.

Slowly, Robin's frozen articles of clothing began to thaw and soften, and Tim was able to remove them and hang them over the shower curtain rod to dry. The tub filled up higher and higher, until Damian was able to be submerged up to his neck, only wearing his underwear. His face still looked like death, though.

"You feeling any better?" Tim asked. Damian nodded, but his teeth still chattered. Tim sighed in relief.  
"I'm going to call Bruce, tell him where we are." Damian nodded again.

"Bruce, hey, it's Tim."

"Hi. Where are you? Where's Damian?"

"We had a little mishap on the docks. We're both OK, but Damian fell into the harbor and I wouldn't have been able to get him home before he froze to death, so we're at the safehouse on Pulaski," said Tim.

"Is he alright?" asked Bruce.

"He's in the tub, warming up," said Tim. "His costume is hanging up to dry (matter of fact, I should put it on the radiator)," Tim trailed off. "But I'll keep him warm and bring him home tomorrow."

"Can I speak to him?" asked Bruce.

"Yeah, hang on. D?" he called, entering the bathroom. Damian looked slightly less paralyzed, and he turned his head to look at Tim. "Can you talk to your dad?"

Damian sat up and reached for the phone, his hand dripping, his fingertips still pink.

"Hi, F-father," he said softly.

"Hey. How do you feel?" asked Bruce.

"Fine. Just cold," Damian squeaked. It actually pained Tim to hear his normally strong and defiant little brother be reduced to such weakness.

"Tim's going to take care of you tonight, OK? I want you to behave," said Bruce.

"I know, Father," Damian said, too cold and tired to argue. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Goodnight, son."

"Bye," Damian sighed, handing the phone back to Tim, who took it back from him and ended the call.

"You want some soup?" Tim asked gently.

"OK," Damian said softly.

As Tim exited the bathroom and walked to the small kitchen, he realized he was shaking.

_What the hell is wrong with me? Get it together, Tim; it's not like YOU fell in the water!_

Opening the sparsely stocked cupboards, he was relieved to find a box of Mrs. Grass's Soup. He put on a pot of water to boil, and sat down at the small table near the back window of the apartment.

_Please don't let him die. Whom am I even praying to? I'm an atheist. Who am I asking? The universe? The multiverse? Whatever, WHOEVER, just PLEASE let Damian be OK! _

_I can't lose him again. And not like this! Not to something as preventable as THIS. And this isn't even that rare. This isn't like something that COULDN'T happen! You hear it every year in Gotham—old people who die of frostbite or hypothermia. Homeless people. The very elderly and the very young. It happens. It COULD happen! _

_I wonder if _he_ even knows how close he came to getting frostbite_, he thought. _I don't think the bed in this place is big enough for two people. Going to have to huddle up, anyway. Let's just hope he doesn't have any hidden daggers on his person._

"Drake?" came a soft voice.

"Yeah?" said Tim, hurrying back to the bathroom. Damian was sitting up straight in the tub. His lips had finally returned to their natural color.

"I think I'm OK now. Uh, are my clothes dry?"

"No, they'll probably take all night. I can look and see if there are some clothes here that'll fit you."

Tim ducked into the bedroom and opened the dresser drawers, hoping to find some nice warm clothes for Damian to sleep in. He found no clean underwear in a child's size, but there were a couple pairs of sweatpants that he could roll the cuffs up on, and a long-sleeved sweatshirt that would most likely come down to Damian's mid-thighs, but it was better than nothing. And only adult-sized pairs of socks.

"Water's boiling," Damian called from the kitchen. Tim hurried back to the kitchen to find Damian standing barefoot with a towel wrapped around his shoulders.

"Found some clothes for you. They're on the bed," said Tim. This whole situation was terribly awkward but he was doing his best to stay in control.

Damian scuttled into the bedroom to put the clothes on. He had to go commando, as he had just taken a bath in his underpants, and therefore they were soaking wet. But it didn't bother him.

"Soup's ready," Tim said softly, pouring the chicken noodle soup into a bowl and slowly carrying it to the table.

"Thank you," Damian squeaked, his hand shaking as he picked up the spoon.

"Are you sure you're alright? You're still shaking," Tim observed.

"Tt. So are you," said Damian.

"Yeah, that's 'cause I—shut up," Tim grumbled. "I was scared."

"_Please,"_ Damian mumbled around the spoon, rolling his eyes. Tim lowered his eyebrows in offense. But then he silently reminded himself that he would probably have said the same thing if Damian had said what he had.

"What did you do with your underwear?" asked Tim, attempting to change the subject.

"On the radiator in the bedroom," said Damian.

"Good," Tim sighed. He looked across the small table at Damian voraciously gulping down the soup. It worried him more. "You sure you're warm enough?" he couldn't help asking.

"The very outside of my skin…" Damian began slowly. "…is like, still a little tingly. Like, I can tell I'm still affected."

Tim nodded.

Damian slurped up the last of the broth and set his spoon in the empty bowl, then sat back in the chair. Wordlessly, Tim picked up the bowl, carried it over to the sink and began washing it by hand. Damian watched him, as he rinsed it with clean water and then put it in the small drying rack.

"Ready for bed?" asked Tim. Damian nodded and hopped down from the chair and padded into the small bedroom. Tim checked all the doors and windows in the safehouse, made sure every article of Robin's uniform was drying on a radiator, and then began to change into civilian clothes that were stored in the closet of the safehouse.

Clad in sweatpants and a t-shirt, Tim returned to the bedroom and found Damian under the covers, pushed up against the wall.

"Try to get some sleep," Tim said softly, climbing in next to Damian. "And let me know if you need anything."

"I will," Damian said softly.

"Goodnight."

It didn't take long for Damian to begin shivering again, and Tim instinctively wrapped an arm around him and pulled him close to his body. Nobody could accuse him of actually _caring_ for Damian, or showing _affection_ for him, right? This was purely medical. A matter of survival. And the tears that were forming in Tim's eyes had nothing to do with emotion, right? He was just over-stressed and sleep-deprived. He wasn't experiencing LOVE for his little brother. He was simply showing concern for a fellow human being. That's all this was.

It didn't help Tim's denial when Damian's small, shaking hand clasped onto Tim's wrist and he pushed his arched back into Tim's side, huddling even closer. Tim sobbed silently, and pulled Damian as close as he could without crushing him.

"_Don't ever do that to me again, Dami,"_ he whispered. _"I really thought I'd lost you."_

Damian didn't respond verbally. He only squeezed Tim's wrist tighter.

* * *

Tim woke up before the sun. He wasn't sure if he had ever actually fallen asleep to begin with- he had been so tense. All that mattered was if Damian had gotten any sleep, and it looked like he had.

Tim got up and immediately checked to see if Damian's uniform had fully dried off on the radiator, and it had, so he brought it into the bedroom and got his own costume on.

"Wake up, D," he said gently. "We've got to get back to the Cave before it gets too light out."

"_Mmm…"_ Damian groaned, sitting up and stretching.

"Luckily, your clothes are all nice and toasty," Tim added with a chuckle, pressing on his domino mask.

"OK," Damian said softly. Tim left the room to give him some privacy.

The ride on Tim's motorcycle back to the Batcave was silent. He sped through the city, easily enough, because it was so early and the roads weren't very busy yet.

* * *

When they arrived back at the Batcave, no one was there. The sun was just starting to come up, so they assumed both Bruce and Alfred were asleep.

"You going to be alright?" Tim asked as he dismounted and took off his helmet.

"Yes. Thank you, Timothy," Damian said grumpily. Tim was almost relieved that Damian had his attitude back.

"Good. I'm going to lie down and…finish sleeping, I guess," said Tim.

"Me, too," said Damian.

"Oh, and hey," Tim called after him as the young Robin headed for the lockers. "Make sure you let Bruce know you're OK."

"Fine," said Damian.

Tim undressed and went up to his old bedroom in the manor. He took a quick shower and brushed his teeth, and crawled into bed to finally relax after his ordeal.

Damian, after changing into pajamas, went into Bruce's room. Sure enough, his father was a lump on the bed. But no matter how deeply asleep he was, Damian knew he would sense his son's presence.

Without saying a word, the child climbed up onto the bed. Bruce stirred.

"_Oh, Damian,"_ he whispered.

"Yes, Father. I'm alright."

"_Oh, thank goodness,"_ Bruce sighed, reaching out to touch his son's face.

"Timothy took me to the safehouse and kept me warm. I'm OK."

"_Good. Good. I knew he would,"_ said Bruce. _"I'm glad you're home. Where's Tim?"_

"In his room, sleeping."

"_OK. Thank you for letting me know,"_ said Bruce, closing his eyes again.

"Sleep well, Father," said Damian. And then he went to his own room.

* * *

At about 11 AM, Bruce decided to get up. Alfred was already in the kitchen, cooking away, and it was past time the billionaire had begun his day.

Bruce showered and dressed and went over to Tim's room.

He knocked lightly before letting himself in.

Tim was already up and doing some tai-chi.

"Hey," said Tim.

"Good morning," said Bruce. "How are you?"

"Uh, OK, I guess," said Tim, abandoning his exercise and rising into a normal standing position.

"Thank you for taking care of Damian last night," said Bruce.

"Of course. What else could I do?" Tim answered. He put his hands on his hips and tried to look matter-of-factly, but quickly, his arms akimbo, began to tremble. His eyes filled with tears and he broke down.

"Tim…"

"_I was so scared, Bruce,"_ he whimpered. Bruce immediately stepped closer and pulled him against his chest. Tim clung to him like he hadn't in years. _"I was so scared he was going to die."_

"But he didn't. Because of you. You protected him. You kept him warm. You saved him. I knew you would."

"I was so freaked out the whole time, I could barely keep it together," Tim cried.

"I know. I know _exactly_ how you feel."

"I don't even know how I managed to keep a straight face the whole time. I was FREAKING OUT."

"Happens to me almost every night," said Bruce. "I know exactly what you mean."

"How do you do it, night after night, year after year?" asked Tim. "How have you not had a nervous breakdown by now?"

"Well, I've had several," said Bruce. He and Tim both scoffed. "It happens. And it's allowed to happen. But the important thing is, you were strong for him. He needed you, and you were there. You should be proud._ I'm_ proud of you."

"I know, Bruce. Thanks," said Tim. "Does it ever get easier? Do you ever feel…like…like 'responsible' is who you are? Like it's not a challenge you have to rise to, that it's just who you are?"

"NOW it is," said Bruce. "But when I first became a father, I was scared as hell. Yes, it gets easier."

"I don't know if I'll ever get used to this big brother thing," said Tim, sitting down on his bed and looking at the floor. "If it had been Dick, he'd have saved Damian and gotten him home and they'd be partying right now."

"I think you're overestimating Dick's ability to get along with Damian," said Bruce. "But I understand how things must look from your point of view."

Neither Bat said anything for a few seconds.

"Just know that all this stress and tension you're feeling right now, will pass. Just give it time. Relax, do something to get your mind off it, and you'll be over it."

"You're probably right," said Tim. "Thanks, Bruce."

"Thank YOU for saving my son."

* * *

A little later, Bruce went into Damian's room to check on him. The boy was curled up in bed, with Titus taking up most of the space beside him. But Damian was a small child, so it didn't look like it bothered him much.

Bruce sat down on the bed and stroked Titus's head, rolling his palm over the dog's skull-lump. The Great Dane began thumping his tail, and that woke Damian up.

"_Father?"_ Damian said softly.

"Hey, son," said Bruce. "How are you feeling?"

"OK, I guess. How are you?"

"I'm fine, thank you," Bruce answered with a smile. "So what exactly happened last night?"

"Uh," Damian grunted as he sat up and turned to face his father. "Well, Timothy interfered with my investigation of the Falconi arms deal," Damian began.

"To be fair, I sent him to find you, and you did not have my permission to be there in the first place," said Bruce.

"_Ugh. Shut up,"_ Damian muttered under his breath. "Anyway, I set an explosive to sink their boat, but Timothy's interference caused the men to fire blindly into the night. One of the bullets grazed my shoulder, and I slipped and fell into the harbor. If you had just let me handle it alone, none of this would have happened."

"Uh, no. That's not how it works, son," said Bruce. "YOU disobeyed me, YOU got in trouble, YOU are to blame. End of story."

"Tt," said Damian.

"So he helped you out of the water and took you to the nearest safehouse?"

"Yes. I took a hot bath, had some soup, and we went to bed."

"Well, Tim told me he was very worried about you. Did you thank him for taking care of you?" asked Bruce.

"Yes, Father," said Damian, also feeling awkward at the intimacy of the previous night. "It's really not a big deal."

"Actually, it kind-of is," said Bruce. "What Tim did for you may have been obligatory, since if he hadn't, you'd be dead, but what you don't know is how much emotional labor he put into the whole thing."

"Huh?"

"Tim was probably more scared than you were last night," said Bruce.

"Tt. Not likely. He was robotic. Like he'd done it a million times before."

"That's what you saw. Inside, he was working overtime. He was more scared than he's ever been."

"He didn't look it."

"Damian, he was FAKING IT. He was terrified for your life. He was hiding it for your sake. That's basically what being an adult is."

"Timothy is not an adult. He's an emancipated minor."

"Stop being evasive," said Bruce. "The point is, Tim did more for you last night than you'll ever know. I just want you to appreciate it."

"I do, Father."

"Good. Make sure Tim knows it, too."

And with that, Bruce kissed his son on the forehead and rose from the bed and exited the room.

* * *

"Timothy?" asked Damian, as Tim put his Red Robin suit back on, ready to head back to his part of the city.

"Yeah?" asked Tim.

"Are you leaving?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"I just wanted to thank you for taking care of me last night."

"You already did."

"No, I mean, for being nice to me. For holding it together. I know it wasn't easy. And I know you probably didn't want to."

_What's that supposed to mean?_ Tim wanted to say. But he knew that for once Damian didn't mean to offend him.

"Of course I wanted to," Tim said, kneeling down to his brother's height. "I know we don't get along, but I would never leave you to die."

"I know you wouldn't. You're my brother."

Tim smiled and gave Damian a hug.

"That's right. You can always count on me, Damian. I'll be here for you." And for the first time, Tim felt the utmost confidence in that statement.

* * *

THE END  
Please review, thanks.


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